


Six Conversations

by Ralkana



Series: Conversations [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Families of Choice, Fluff, M/M, Same-Sex Marriage, Team Dynamics, Wedding Plans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team finds out about Clint and Coulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE.**
> 
> This story is a sequel to my story, [Conversation on a Cloud](http://archiveofourown.org/works/506774), and you should really read that one first. I've apparently created a series, since there's a third part in the works. No idea how that happened.
> 
> Huge thanks to [Maquis Leader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Maquis_Leader/pseuds/Maquis_Leader), who betaed this for me and helped me with characterization. Any mistakes are definitely mine, not hers.
> 
> Oh yeah, as always, it seems: language warning.

 

Clint sends the message and waits for a response, relaxing back into the cushions of the couch in the guest suite he's been using in Stark's tower. He knows Stark expects him to make the stay permanent -- he keeps using words like _nest_ and _roost_ because he thinks he's fucking hilarious -- but Clint can't quite think that far ahead yet. There are a few too many variables, the most important of which is lying in a hospital bed across town at SHIELD medical.

Clint always hates to leave, but Phil needs his rest. He needs to recover, and quickly, because Clint can't handle seeing him pale and drawn, face lined with pain.

He pushes the distressing mental image away and tries to concentrate on what he's going to say when his message is answered.

He has no idea. This news is too ridiculously massive.

He thinks instead of the first time Phil proposed, and a chuckle breaks free as he remembers how loopy and out of it Phil was. Clint had gone to see him, unsettled by how upset he'd been at overhearing Stark's casual conversation with his girlfriend about Phil's supposed on-again, off-again lover.

The reassurance he'd received from Phil would have been enough, but God, this... the way things have turned out now -- God bless morphine.

He remembers how the discussion started, him wondering why they'd never told anybody about their relationship, and it's true -- they never have. But one person knows.

After the disastrous and aborted mission where he and Phil had finally admitted this was more than just casual flirtation and had fucked each others' brains out in a tiny safe house bedroom, they'd returned to SHIELD and to Coulson's office for their standard mission debrief.

They had been uneasy and uncertain of each other at first, but perfectly professional, their post-mission ritual long set, Clint sprawled bonelessly on Phil's couch answering Phil's questions as he'd meticulously marked off a checklist.

Natasha, on her way out on a mission of her own, had knocked and stuck her head in, taken one look at them and backed out, muttering in various languages about men and idiots and taking years when days would have done.

None of them had ever mentioned it again, and now he has no idea what he's going to say when she calls.

As it turns out, he has a whole day to think about it. Unfortunately, that is no help at all.

When the burn phone he bought finally rings the following afternoon, Clint jumps.

He is in the waiting room at medical while Phil is down having some sort of complicated internal imaging done. He glances around frantically as the phone rings again -- he can't have this conversation here.

He heads for the stairs toward the roof as he answers.

"Sao Paolo," he says, and she answers with, "Maracaibo," and he comes back with, "Singapore," and they're off. He allows the rhythm of their security ritual to distract him as he climbs higher, only sighing and shaking his head when he's finally on the roof.

"You realize this is stupid," he interrupts her as he finds somewhere to sprawl on the rough concrete, hunching and angling his body to block the wind. "You could have asked me any security question and gone through every single protocol when it mattered, and it wouldn't have made a difference. I would have answered everything correctly, and you still would have been screwed."

Natasha snorts. " _I_ would have been screwed? Tell me again, Barton, which of us ended up strapped to the bed after our little encounter?" she shoots back, and he nods, conceding the point.

He doesn't thank her, not aloud, and there's a pause while he works to push away the hazy memories, the guilt and anger and triumph and terror and grief of the hours and days that followed.

"Is there a reason I'm freezing my ass off in the middle of the night to make this call, other than for you to tell me our security measures are useless?"

And Clint remembers now, why he's calling.

"Phil..." he starts, but he trails off, because he hasn't said it out loud yet, not even to himself, and just the thought of telling Natasha suddenly makes it that much more _real_.

"Barton, what's happened?" Natasha snaps, and it jerks him out of his head, and he and Phil are probably the only ones who would be able to hear the tightly-strapped-down fear in her voice, and his eyes widen.

"No! God, no, Tash, he's fine. Better than fine. The docs are amazed, but this is Phil; he doesn't do half-assed, not even when it comes to dying and healing and physical therapy."

"Idiot," she mutters. "Do that again, and I'll end you."

They lapse into silence once more until Natasha makes such a disgusted sound of impatience that Clint smiles.

"Still. Waiting."

"Phil asked me to marry him," Clint blurts out, and holy shit. Yeah. It's real.

"It doesn't count if he's on opiates," Natasha says instantly, and it surprises a laugh out of Clint, because he remembers Phil's spacey, slurred voice.

_C'mon, Clint. Let's get married._

"He was the first time," he acknowledges, still grinning. "But he's asked me four times since then, completely sober every time."

And Clint has answered yes every time, just like he promised, grinning like a moron with every proposal, but she doesn't need to know that.

"Has medical checked him over again to make absolutely certain that the lack of oxygen didn't affect his brain?"

Clint forces a laugh, because it's not funny, they _weren't_ sure, not until he woke up, if he'd still be Phil, but this is what they do, they laugh at things that aren't funny.

"He's completely sane and in his right mind."

"That is still in question if he wants to marry you."

"It's the sex."

"It was good, Barton, but it wasn't that good."

"You aren't Phil," he retorts, and the amused/offended/disgusted sound she makes has him laughing again. "He does this thing where -- "

"Enough."

"Will you be my best man, Tash?"

There's silence -- frosty silence -- and he grins.

"Come on, would it have been any better if I'd asked you to be my maid of honor?"

"What's wrong with the word _witness_?"

"If I wanted a witness, I'd ask Sitwell," he tosses back. "Natasha, I..."

He takes a deep breath, asks the question he really wanted to ask in the first place.

"Natasha, will you stand up with me at my wedding?"

The silence lengthens, and he draws on all his training, refuses to fidget. His fingers are gripping the cheap phone so tightly that the plastic creaks.

"Barton, don't I always have your back?"

He swallows, clears his throat. "Yeah," he says nonchalantly.

"Then why would it be any different now, тупица?"

He laughs, and it's way too close to a sob, Jesus, and he passes a hand over his face, and if it comes back wet, well, there's nobody there to see it.

"Thanks, Romanov."

"I'm going to need some notice if you want me there."

"It's a while off, Phil's not in any shape right now for, well, anything but lying down, really. Natasha..."

He trails off, and okay, they've officially hit the limit for serious emotional connections on this conversation, because she makes a scoffing sound.

"It's fucking _freezing_ out here. I need to go inside before my tits fall off."

Clint grins because he knows she's using the crude words to hide her soft underbelly.

"Tell Coulson whenever he's sick of you, it only takes one phone call."

He laughs, and she's gone.

Clint thinks of how it'll be as he heads back down to see if they're done with Phil yet.

He imagines Phil beside him as they take this enormous step, Natasha watching their backs as she always does. It's a hell of an image.

It's everything he wants in the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> тупица -- dumbass, bonehead, numbskull, etc.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Phil glances over as the door to the room opens, a smile already on his lips. He's bored and frustrated, and he needs a distraction from the agony in his chest -- it's bad today, and he wonders if perhaps the weather's changing -- and Clint is, of course, the best distraction.

His heart sinks as Tony Stark walks into the room, and then it rises a little again as Pepper Potts walks in after him.

Pepper is smiling, and Phil finds that he's smiling back, just a little. She just has that effect.

"Oh, Phil," she murmurs, reaching for his hand. Her eyes are bright and she quickly dabs at them with the tissue she's holding in her other hand.

"Ms. Potts," he greets her softly, and when she glares, he amends, "Pepper."

"I would have come earlier, but I thought it was better if you rested. How are you?"

"I've been better."

"You've also been dead.” Tony pauses, staring coldly down at him. “So I'd say this is an improvement."

"Tony..." Pepper says warningly.

"What? Coulson knows I'm pissed at him. The only reason I'm here is because you wanted to see him." His words are flippant, but he is studying Phil as carefully as Pepper is.

"Then you can wait in the waiting room," she says, arching an eyebrow at him. He shrugs and rolls his eyes, but he doesn't leave, and Pepper turns back to Phil.

"Now, listen, Phil, when you finally get out of here, we've got rooms for you ready at the tower."

"That's really not necessary -- " Phil says as he shifts to be more comfortable, hiding a wince.

"It's not an offer. I want you where I'm sure you're going to be getting the best care."

"I appreciate it," he says evenly, because Clint has already asked Phil to stay with him at the tower at least on a temporary basis, and he's agreed.

"Speaking of offers, I know I offered to fly you to Portland. Of course, that was before you pissed me off by dying, but I don't go back on my word. You’re not going anywhere anytime soon, at least, not until your insurance runs out, but I can have a jet fuelled and ready at Portland International in an hour if you want to make a call."

Tony's staring out the window as he speaks, and Phil can't help but stare at his back. It's an unbelievably generous offer made even more incredible because Phil knows that Tony hasn't been lying -- he is pissed at Phil.

"You know, if you want to let her in on the whole 'I was dead but now I’m better' thing."

He doesn't trust easily, but he trusted Phil, and he's taken the two days they all thought Phil was dead pretty damn personally.

"I appreciate it," Phil says truthfully, "But I won't be making that call."

"But, Phil, are you sure? Does she know? She should know," Pepper says, troubled. "I know you said things are rocky, but I’m sure she'd want to know."

The glance she gives Tony's back is telling, and Phil decides it's time for the truth. They all deserve it, not least of all him and Clint.

"There is no cellist," he tells Pepper, and she stares at him in confusion. "There never was."

She pulls her hand out of his and straightens, her back stiffening. "You lied to me? All this time?"

Tony turns around, and yeah, now he's _really_ pissed. He stalks from the window to where Pepper is standing and puts a hand on her shoulder.

"Pepper -- " Phil starts, but she tosses up a hand and takes a step back, and he stops.

"Why would you do that? How could you do that? I thought we were friends."

"We are -- "

"No, I don't think so. Not if you could just... lie so easily. And with so much detail."

 _I do that every day_ , he thinks wearily, suddenly really tired of the fact that the best part of his whole life is a lie. He can't remember now why he thought it was so important.

"There is someone," he says carefully. "Not a cellist, though."

"Why couldn't you just tell me the truth?"

"Because it was information I wasn't ready to share yet, and you tend to... dig."

"I do not!" She jerks her head back, clearly offended.

Tony laughs, because even if he's mad, he's not going to let that one go. "Yeah, Pep. You really do."

"If I do, and I’m not agreeing with you that I do, Tony, it’s because you never give me a straight answer."

"I'm sorry I lied to you," Phil says, and she stops glaring at Tony to turn wounded, angry eyes on him.

"I just don't understand why you felt it was necessary."

"Really. Just who is this mystery woman?" Tony's eyes light up. "Is it someone I’ve dated?"

"As if you've ever dated. And I’m sure Phil has better taste." Pepper smirks.

"Hey! I’ve dated... some..."

Phil ignores Tony, which is easy after all the practice he's had at it. "Pepper, I'm going to need your help with planning something, and I hope it'll make up for this."

She looks intrigued now. "What are we planning?"

The door opens again, and they all glance at it. Clint steps in and freezes. "Sorry, sir," he says easily, pushing down his disappointment. "Didn't know you had visitors. I can stop by later."

Phil takes a deep breath, and yeah, that was dumb, because now his chest is on fire. He ignores it and reaches out a hand.

"Clint," he says.

Clint glances at the other two and comes to his side. "Coulson. You're looking better, sir."

Phil angles his head for a kiss, the way he does when they’re alone. Clint's eyes widen, and he stiffens as he realizes what Phil is doing. "Now?" he murmurs.

"No time like the present."

"Okay, embarrassing, awkwardly obvious, and point-making PDAs later," he says loudly, but he can't resist running a knuckle over the back of Phil's hand, because Phil should never look this pale and vulnerable. "Sitrep first."

"Oh my God," Pepper breathes as she suddenly gets it, and Tony's making a strange choking sound.

"I'm fine," Phil says, and when Clint glares, he sighs. "It hurts, Barton. What do you want me to say?"

"Oh my God," Pepper says again. "I'm trying to stay mad at you for not telling me about this, but yeah, I can see why you might have wanted to keep this to yourselves for a while."

"Wait, this is... you? And... you?" Tony is eyeing them like a particularly complex equation. One he has somehow overlooked that changes an entire series of calculations. "This is... wait."

"Do you want us to go?" Pepper asks them.

"No, actually." Phil takes Clint's hand, squeezing as he feels how tense Clint is. He's relieved when Clint squeezes back. They probably should have discussed this first. "I'm glad you're here, like I said, because we're going to need your help planning the wedding. If -- "

He breaks off as Tony gives a strangled yelp. Pepper's eyes are saucers.

"If... if you'd be interested in helping us."

Clint squeezes his hand now, and they are both frozen, just waiting.

"Oh," Pepper murmurs, and then she sniffs as her eyes well and spill. "Oh, God, Phil!"

She turns to Clint. "All this time, we've been talking about the damn cellist, and you were _right there_ , oh my God, I'm so sorry, you must think we're so stupid, how did we not see this?"

"Because they're secret agents," Tony says. "They tell lies for a living."

"Oh my God, a wedding, really?" She pulls out her phone and moves closer to the bed, and Clint reluctantly steps aside. "Tell me everything you want!"

They're quickly lost in a discussion of possible venues and color schemes and Clint finds himself standing with Tony.

"Of all the crazy things I've seen lately, this is maybe the craziest."

Clint stiffens, his lips pressed into a thin line. "And why is that exactly, Stark?"

Tony rolls his eyes. "Relax, Cupid. I've done things that'd make you blush, and most of them are somewhere on YouTube. This is just... out of nowhere."

"It's really not."

"So... are you guys as on-again, off-again as he made things sound? Do you even play the cello? I took you for an electric guitar kind of guy."

Clint's lips twitch. "No... it took us a ridiculously long time to get to the point, but there's been no off since then. It's always been on."

He sees Tony's gaze sweep speculatively over him and then wander over to Phil. "You ask one question about my sex life, Stark, and I'm taking out your workshop with an incendiary arrow or six."

"Oh, come on, I was just -- " Tony looks at Phil, squints a little. "The idea of Coulson having sex is a little freaky. More than a little. Quite a bit actually, but I have to know." He turns back to Clint. "Does he do it in a suit?”

Clint thinks briefly about answering with, _Only when we role-play_ , but decides encouraging Stark is a really bad idea. "Not really joking here, Stark."

Tony's smirk fades. "This is why you disappeared. After... until Fury called to tell us. You were here?"

Clint closes his eyes, because it's still so fucking painful, he can feel the grief and the guilt and the rage choking him when he thinks of the immediate aftermath of the battle.

"No. I wasn't here," he says shortly. "I didn't know. Tasha took me back to Phil's, and then she told me... I don't remember much of anything after that until Fury called us in to tell us he'd lied."

"Fury didn't even tell _you_?" His eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously? Is there anybody he won’t lie to?”

"We haven't told Fury about us -- we haven't told _anybody_ about us until now -- but I'm pretty sure he knows now. I was kind of a mess. Natasha kept him distracted in the corridor by listing all of the ways she was going to take him apart for lying to us, so I had some time alone with Phil, but the man's not an idiot."

"We're the first people you told? Why, Barton!" He lays a hand over his heart, flutters his eyelashes. "I'm honored."

"Wasn't my decision," Clint says wryly, and shrugs when Tony frowns. "I'm okay with it, though, and yeah, you two are the first. Tasha just knew."

"That’s a given." Tony's face lights up. "Ooh! I call dibs on telling -- "

"No."

"You don't even know -- "

"No."

"Come on, Barton -- " he wheedles, and Clint just glares.

"No, Tony," Pepper says firmly as she slips her phone back into her purse. Clearly the first strategy meeting has now concluded. "We are not going to out them to anyone, don't even think about it. This is not our news to tell."

Clint smiles gratefully at her. "Thanks."

Tony rolls his eyes and then he smiles. It's a dangerous smile. Generals and supermodels alike quake when it's turned on them.

"We are so throwing you the most amazing wedding."

"Uh, no, that's not necessary," Phil says quickly.

"Shut up. You sacrificed yourself for an ungrateful, uncaring world, blah, blah, blah -- doesn't matter if it didn't stick, and yeah, I'm still saying it was a damn stupid thing to do, but you deserve a hell of a party, and I'm gonna plan it."

Clint looks worriedly at Phil, who closes his eyes and breathes deep, ignoring the pain.

"I think Phil and Clint might want to plan their own wedding, Tony," Pepper says with an affectionate smile.

"Well, no, 'cause then it'll just be boring. My ideas are better. They always are. You'll see."

"We'll talk about them at home," she says as she slips her hand into his.

"Come on, let me at least tell -- "

"No," all three of them answer instantly, and Pepper rolls her eyes as she leads Tony to the door, the two of them still bickering in low voices. When she shushes Tony, and miracle of miracles, he actually shuts up, Clint laughs and turns to Phil.

"That's terrifying," he says. "We're going to end up with rainbow everything, aren't we?"

"Still want to chance it?"

Clint's wry grin widens into a genuine smile as he leans carefully down to finally kiss Phil. "Yes."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat spoilery, very mild trigger warnings at the end of the chapter.

 

Clint picks idly at the label on his bottle of beer and stares out at the setting sun. The view from the top of the tower is spectacular, if a little depressing, given the current state of the surrounding neighborhood.

It's already being rebuilt though. New Yorkers never stay down for long. He's always admired their resiliency.

_Speaking of resiliency..._

Clint smiles around the bottle as he takes a sip. He'd rather be sitting with Phil, but the man needs rest, and he fights to stay awake whenever Clint's there.

He'll be home soon. Skewered clean through and left for dead only weeks ago, flatlined several times during transport and on the table, and he's already bored and chafing to get back to work. Soon -- no doubt far sooner than medical recommends -- he'll be out and coming home.

He'll be coming home to Clint, so they can start planning their wedding.

_Holy shit. Our. Wedding._

He glances over as he becomes aware of someone else on the roof. Rogers is climbing up, what looks like a sketchpad and a case of pencils in one massive hand.

He looks momentarily startled to see Clint, but he covers it quickly. They nod at each other.

"Rogers."

"Barton."

"Won't be much light to sketch by soon."

Steve rubs at the back of his neck. "I... it's..."

Clint realizes the man is looking for solitude, and he reluctantly rolls to his feet.

Steve realizes his intention and puts up a hand. "No, don't -- you don't have to leave -- honestly, it's... do you mind if I sit with you? I just... I just needed some air."

The man just got back from wherever he'd run off to, but it doesn't seem like it's helped him find too much peace of mind.

Clint shrugs as he sits back down, tilting his head toward the lounger beside him. Rogers sits carefully, as though he's uncertain it will hold his weight.

Clint smirks. He's pretty sure the furniture up here has been designed for Stark in the suit -- Clint has no doubt the man lounges around in his armor just for kicks.

"Beer?" he offers, gesturing at the small cooler between the chairs.

The other man shakes his head, a wistful expression on his face. "No point, really."

Clint winces in sympathy. "Sucks. It, ah, that's too bad," he clarifies, unsure of how current Rogers' grasp of slang is.

"Yeah," Rogers sighs.

Clint can't wait to tease Phil about spending a little one-on-one time with Captain America. He can practically see the envious look, the valiant attempt not to pout.

He grins. His boyfriend is such a geek.

...no, not boyfriend.

_Fiancé. Holy shit._

He must have made some sort of noise, because Rogers is looking at him curiously.

Clint shrugs, too happy to pretend like he's not. Phil's alive, and he'll be home soon, and they're getting married. Life is good.

"Never thought I'd be happy to be hearing wedding bells," he says with a grin.

When Rogers cocks his head, Clint laughs. "Metaphorical bells, Rogers. Not real ones."

"Oh." His look of confusion remains. "Whose -- yours?"

"You don't have to sound so shocked."

"I didn't even know you were dating anyone."

Clint pauses. Natasha knows, and Tony and his girlfriend know, and somehow, she's convinced Stark to keep a lid on it, so Phil _probably_ won't be upset if he tells Steve, but then again, this is _Captain America_ , and Phil might want to be the one to break the news to him.

Clint considers how unlikely it is that Phil will be able to get out a coherent sentence in Rogers' presence anytime soon, let alone news of this magnitude, and he decides to take the initiative. Nobody needs the awkward embarrassment the other scenario might lead to.

"Coulson and I are getting married."

Steve's confusion only deepens. "Agent Coulson? What, is it a double wedding?"

And suddenly, Clint realizes that this is a hell of a lot more complicated than just some embarrassing fanboying. He's fiercely glad he's taken the initiative, because if this is all about to go pear-shaped, there's no way in hell he wants Phil exposed to it. He's pretty sure having his childhood hero sneer at him and call him a fag would break Phil in ways that might never be fixed.

"No," he says carefully. "Not a double wedding. A single wedding. Phil and I have been involved in a relationship for a little over two years now."

Steve shakes his head, bewildered. "What -- but you -- is that -- allowed? It can't be -- is it legal?"

"Yes. It's not legal everywhere," Clint says stiffly, hating this, hating that so far, this reaction is pretty mild, hating having to justify what he and Phil share -- what they are lucky enough to share. "It hasn't been legal in New York very long, and it's only legal in six states and DC, for now, but people are slowly getting their heads out of their asses about it."

Steve looks up sharply at that.

"Is this going to be a problem, Rogers?" Clint snaps out.

"I don't -- I don't know," Steve says quietly. "I don't -- this is _marriage_ and -- "

"You gonna preach to me about the sanctity of marriage, Cap? What, you think Phil and I are less capable of love and commitment and fidelity than you? Anybody tell you what the divorce rate is these days? Do you know how many people are ready and eager to condemn _my_ marriage while fucking around and ignoring _their_ vows?"

Steve is looking up at him, misery and confusion all over his face, and Clint realizes he is standing over the other man, glaring down at him with his fists clenched. He takes a deep breath, suddenly miserable himself.

He sits down again and runs a hand over his face. "Look, I... Phil and I aren't required to justify our lives to you, and we don't need your approval. I just... I need to know if this is going to be a problem."

"I don't know if it is, Barton -- look, don't get angry. I'm just trying to be honest with you. That's what you want, isn't it? You want me to lie?"

Clint takes another deep breath. "No, I don't. You're right. Honesty is best."

"This is... I'm sorry, but it's not like this is just one of Stark's little lessons in pop culture. It's redefining the idea of _marriage_ and you just... threw it at me and expected me to catch it. I mean, it'd be like someone suddenly saying to you that now it's legal for -- "

"Stop." Clint held up a hand. "Just do me a favor and stop. Whatever analogy you were going for there, just don't. I've heard them all, and it's only going to offend me. If that matters to you."

"Of course it matters to me!" Steve looks hurt, and Clint is annoyed.

 _You don't get to be the hurt one here_ , he thinks bitterly.

"I'm gonna go downstairs," he says as he stands again and picks up his cooler. "I think we've said pretty much all that can be said right now."

Clint doesn't wait for a response before he turns and heads back into the tower. He doesn't quite know where to go. He knows he doesn't want to go into his empty suite where his lonely bed is waiting for him, and there's enough anger and alcohol flowing through him that pulling out his bow and heading out for some practice would be a spectacularly bad idea right now.

He wants to go to Phil, but Phil is sleeping now -- or should be, anyway -- and he doesn't want to do anything to hinder Phil's recovery. Besides, he doesn't want to inflict his mood on the man he loves, and he wouldn't be able to keep from telling him what caused it, and Phil definitely doesn't need that.

With a sigh, he heads for the enormous common rec room. Stark is out of town this weekend, God knows where, and when he'd left, he'd breezed through and said, "Barton, I'm leaving you the keys, make yourself at home, don't shoot holes -- bigger holes -- in anything, and don't burn the place down. Further down. Whatever."

So Clint knows he doesn't have to worry about unexpected company while he's in such a foul mood. He parks himself on Stark's ludicrously expensive and absurdly comfortable couch and turns on the ridiculously large flatscreen.

He flips through until he finds a ballgame and then leaves it there, reaching for another beer.

Time passes, and he doesn't know what the score is, what inning it is, or even what teams are playing. The game is just white noise, like chatter on the comms, letting his mind focus or drift, whatever he needs at any given moment.

It's full dark and the game is long over when there's a quiet knock on the doorjamb. Clint glances over to see Steve looming, and he controls his snort but rolls his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Can we... I'd like to talk to you."

Clint blows out his breath and sits up from where he's been sprawled across the couch.

"All right. Just be aware that while I'm not drunk enough to forget this conversation, I probably _am_ drunk enough to take a swing at you if you piss me off, and Phil will probably be annoyed with you if you break me."

The corners of Steve's mouth twitch up in the barest hint of a smile. "Acknowledged," he says seriously.

He slowly moves closer and sits on the couch, and Clint wonders what version of "love the sinner, hate the sin," he's about to get.

There's a pause while Steve gathers his thoughts. Clint takes the opportunity to mute the idiotic postgame commentary blathering from the television.

"I'm going to try not to offend you, but I'm not used to talking on this subject, so I might. Just... try not to get angry with me until you've heard me out, okay?"

Clint considers him coolly and then gives him a terse nod. It's the best he can do.

Steve returns his nod and folds his hands awkwardly in his lap.

"My men, the Howling Commandos -- they're amazing," he says, and Clint is thrown, because this is so not what he expected, but now Steve is pressing his lips tightly together, his face suddenly drawn and pale.

" _Were_ amazing," he corrects himself. "Hell, I just saw them, it feels like _weeks_ ago, and I can't... I just can't believe they're all gone. All of them. Every single one..."

His voice trails off and Clint has no idea what to do here. He's simultaneously amazed and horrified that Rogers can look like the vulnerable kid he is biologically and the haggard ancient he is chronologically _at the same time_.

After a moment, Steve visibly pulls himself together.

"I'm sorry," he says evenly. "That wasn't what I meant to say. What I _meant_ to say is that my Commandos w-were amazing, a smart, talented, _fearless_ group of men who got the job done, no matter what. And yet, every seasoned officer I talked to told me that the unit would never work. 'Too different' or 'they're lazy' or 'they'll turn on you' -- I heard it all. 'Stick to your own kind.' But we went out and we proved them all wrong."

He shrugs, and then Clint watches as a fond, wistful smile blooms over Rogers' young face.

"And, well, the toughest person I ever knew was the classiest dame I ever met. I saw her drop more than one cocky S.O.B. who thought she was weak just because she didn't have a -- "

He stops and clears his throat, and Clint marvels as he blushes -- actually blushes, a rosy flush along those perfect chiseled cheekbones.

"Well, you know," he continues after a moment. "What I'm trying to say is, the Commandos and Peggy -- Agent Carter -- I wouldn't have believed you if you'd told me about them when I was growing up. So... just because I don't know about something, don't know that it works or how, that doesn't mean I think that it's wrong. It just means I don't know about it yet."

He stops, and Clint shifts on the couch, unsure of what to say. Steve's straightforward words are not at all what he expected.

Clint opens his mouth to respond, and Steve holds up his hand.

"Wait. Please. I'm -- I'm not finished yet."

 _And here comes the other shoe_ , Clint thinks, disappointed despite himself.

"I know men -- knew men, young men, who married their sweethearts after two, three months, sometimes less, and maybe they were happy, and maybe they weren't. But you and Agent Coulson, you say that you... that the two of you... have been... I'm sorry. I don't know what word to use."

"The same words you would use if it were me and Agent Romanov. 'Together' works. Phil and I have been together for two years and two months."

"Two years is a pretty long time, long enough for you to know what you want, and you fellas are both smart, capable men who know your own hearts and minds better than I ever could, better than I want to or have any right to. And I have _no_ right to judge what makes someone happy, unless it's hurting someone else, and I can't figure out any way at all that your happiness -- your marriage -- hurts anyone else. So I guess what I'm trying to say is what I should have said in the first place."

His hand shoots out and Clint barely restrains his flinch.

"Congratulations. I hope you'll both be very happy together."

Clint can only stare at his outstretched hand, his open face. If it were anyone else, he'd immediately call this abrupt peace offering bullshit, call them a liar and probably back it up with a punch or two, but this is Captain America, and his baby blues are radiating nothing but honest sincerity and eager earnestness. Clint can't help but shake his head and chuckle weakly.

"Christ," he mutters. "No wonder he admires you so damn much."

He takes Steve's hand and shakes it firmly. "Thank you. What you've said, the fact that you've taken the time to really think about it instead of just going with your knee-jerk reaction, it... well, it means a hell of a lot. Please don't discuss this with anyone, all right? We're telling people slowly. Reactions vary."

"Of course. I understand completely."

Clint thinks that it's pretty unlikely that he understands completely, but he imagines, for a moment, what might be different if he got suddenly tossed seven decades into the future, and how he'd handle it. He thinks there'd be a lot more swearing.

"Look, Rogers, I might... it's possible I overreacted a little bit. The fact is, when it comes to this, you never know how people are going to react, not even people you think you really know, and it's... rough to be constantly braced for explosions."

He doesn't tell Rogers the other part of it: that he's important to Phil, that his reaction matters. He thinks that might be too much for the man to handle right now.

"So... I'm sorry," he finishes. "I went a little nuts, and you got the worst of it." 

"It's okay, Barton. We're, uh... we're good. Is that right?"

Clint laughs. "Yeah. We're good."

Steve visibly relaxes now, scrubbing his hands over his face. "Some nights I really wish I could drink."

Clint smiles sympathetically. "It's still pretty early. Well, okay, it's late, but it's not _that_ late. We can see what's on, expand your pop culture knowledge a little, if you want."

Rogers smiles at him, and while it's still not as free and easy as it would have been this morning, it's a start. "I'd like that," he says.

"JARVIS! Do we have popcorn?"

"Certainly, sir."

"Let's see, what's on... ooh, _Die Hard_. Perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Okay, some very MILD TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions of and allusions to homophobia, single use of a homophobic slur, and brief and very, very vague mentions of racism and sexism. I hope that's all of them. Please let me know if you think there's anything I should add.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Clint sets the cup of tea and the plate of food before Phil and hands him a napkin, and then a fork.

"You sure you don't need anything else?" he asks, and Phil sighs.

"I need you to sit down and stop hovering."

"I'm not -- "

"You really are," Tony says from where he's standing by the counter, pouring a cup of coffee. "It's adorable. So cute." He makes a loud kissing noise in their direction.

Clint's lips thin, and he resists the urge to cross his arms defensively over his chest. He _is_ hovering, and he knows it's irritating -- it's even irritating _him_ \-- but it's... he can't... Phil looks pale and exhausted, like the walk from their suite to the common kitchen area took everything he has, and it probably did because Phil got _stabbed_ through the _heart_ , for Christ's sake, he _died_ , and it was Clint's fault, and maybe Clint just wants to make sure he's okay because he's barely out of medical and probably shouldn't have been released at all, and he doesn't know why everyone has such a damn problem with that.

Before he can open his mouth and probably make things worse, there is a crack of earsplitting thunder and the tower's windows strobe with a flash of lightning.

Steve looks up from where he's been sketching by the window, perplexed. "Was it supposed to rain today?"

"I don't think that was natural," Tony answers. "JARVIS?"

"There is no rain in the forecast, sir."

There's a clatter of boots coming down the stairs from the top of the tower, which is still heavily under construction, and then they stop.

"In here, big guy," Tony calls, taking another sip of coffee.

"What does it say about our lives when the sudden appearance of a thunder god from another realm doesn't even cause us to blink?" Clint murmurs, and Phil's laughing eyes flick to his.

"Friends!" Thor says as he enters the room, already smiling happily. Then his eyes light up and his smile widens even more. "Son of Coul! You are looking much better! I am glad to see it!"

Phil smiles briefly, and nods in acknowledgment. "Hello, Thor. Thank you. I'm feeling better, though still a long way from well."

Thor happily greets the other three men in the room with hearty handshakes and punishing slaps on the back.

"You should congratulate the son of Coul and our buddy Hawkeye here," Tony says with a smirk, and Phil and Clint both close their eyes and sigh.

"I have already congratulated Agent Coulson on his returning health," Thor answers. "For what am I to congratulate our valiant archer?"

"I'm fairly certain we had this conversation, Stark," Phil says quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "About how this is not your news to tell."

Steve shakes his head, Clint just glares, and Tony shrugs, smirking half-apologetically and half like he just doesn't give a shit. "Oops. Well, I didn't tell him everything."

Thor looks troubled. "If it is a matter they have shared in confidence, then indeed, you should not have shared it at all."

He turns toward Phil and Clint. "We shall not discuss the matter further," he says firmly.

It's impossible to miss the hurt shining along with the absolute sincerity in his eyes. He knows there is a secret everyone else is in on, and he is not being told. Phil sighs.

"It isn't that we weren't going to tell you, Thor; we've just been telling people at our own pace." At that, he glances at Tony, his gaze absolutely bland and yet somehow more threatening than Clint's death glare.

"I do not wish -- " Thor begins, and Clint cuts him off.

"It's fine. It's good news, and we're glad to share it with you." He takes a deep breath and rests his hand lightly on Phil's shoulder. As PDAs go, it's a small one, and considering that Phil wanted to inform Pepper and Tony by kissing Clint, Clint is pretty sure he'll be forgiven. He's proven right when Phil's hand comes up to cover his own.

"Coulson and I are getting married."

"It's a ceremony where we join our lives together, and swear fidelity to each other," Phil clarifies, and Clint grins at that, because how can he not?

Thor's answering smile is enormous. "I was not aware you shared a warrior's bond! This _is_ glorious news!"

Clint's startled when he's pulled into a sudden embrace, and he dazedly pats Thor on the back before he's released. Thor is heading for Phil, who's watching wide-eyed, and Clint snaps, "Careful!" before he can stop himself.

The handshake Thor shares with Phil is far gentler than anyone in the room has believed Thor is capable of being. Phil's slight smile is bemused.

"Warrior's bond?" Steve asks, still smiling himself because Thor's boundless good cheer is completely infectious.

"Such a bond can take many forms. It is an alliance forged in battle which lasts long after the fighting has finished. Our friends have fought together, spilled and shed blood together, and are fortunate to have found such a connection."

Tony laughs. "That's not all they've done together. It's not all about the fighting, big guy. Unless, hey, maybe that's what turns them on, in which case, not judging. Just asking for pictures. Nothing fancy, maybe a few black and whites if you’re feeling artistic."

Thor turns genuinely indignant eyes on Tony. "I am well aware of how deep such a bond can go. These connections are rare and treasured in Asgard. Are they so common in Midgard that they can be so easily mocked?"

Tony's eyes widen. "Hey, what, no! There's no mocking. Just... gentle teasing. Okay, maybe a little friendly mocking."

"You find something to jest about in the hard-fought happiness of our friends? Have not the son of Coul and our shield-brother Clint sacrificed enough?"

Clint is surprised, pleased, and maybe a little humbled by the instant and vehement support Thor is showing their relationship, and he can tell Phil feels the same.

Tony shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. "It's all done with love," he says with a smirk, and though his words are sarcastic, there is enough truth in them that Thor smiles broadly.

"I do forget how much you enjoy a jest," he says, softening the censure of his previous words. He turns back to Clint and Phil.

"Indeed, this is a reason for great celebration! Your names will be well-toasted among the warriors in my father's hall when next I visit. My own mother will send a gift to bless your union. For now, we must have a feast in your honor!"

"We have plans already underway for the wedding reception," Phil says instantly, fearing another hostile takeover attempt.

"Oh, no, I speak not of the wedding feast -- that takes months to plan -- hogs must be fattened and slaughtered, vats of mead prepared. That we will discuss later. I speak of a feast to celebrate your betrothal! This day!"

"Thor, it's not even nine in the morning," Steve says with a laugh.

"Ah, but such a feast cannot be prepared with haste!" He leads Steve from the room with another slap on the back. "Come, Captain. Let us plan!"

"And you were worried about the party I was planning." Tony rolls his eyes and follows them out, and if the glance he sends Clint and Phil from the doorway is slightly apologetic, none of them mention it.

"That was unexpected," Clint says as he finally sits in the chair next to Phil's, pulling it close enough to Phil's right side that their shoulders are touching.

"But not unpleasant," Phil answers as he shifts in his chair to lean lightly against Clint's side.

Clint steals a piece of melon off Phil's plate. "Not hungry?" he asks softly.

"'n a minute," Phil murmurs tiredly, and Clint smiles. He's sure this stolen moment of peace will be as short-lived as they always are, so they're going to take advantage of it while it lasts.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Phil stares around the office he's using in the Tower. It's not his office, it doesn't have his things, and he frowns.

The office is a compromise, a way to let him work while making sure he doesn't completely overdo it by heading into SHIELD all day. He's on light duty, which basically means he's processing the paperwork for the Initiative without being present for the field missions which generate the paperwork.

All of the busywork, and none of the fun. He sighs and rubs gently at the edges of the healing scar on his chest.

He looks up at a knock on the door.

"Come in."

Dr. Banner quietly enters and approaches his desk, report in hand. He looks pale and exhausted, evidence of recent time spent as the other guy.

"Here's my report. There's not much more to it than, 'I got mad, and then I don't remember what happened next until I woke up naked,' but who knows? One of these days that information is going to be helpful."

"Every detail gives us a clearer picture of events," Phil says evenly, though Banner is correct. His report will be more organized and well-written than the reports of any of the others save Captain Rogers, but it will be too vague to be of any use.

Banner nods and turns toward the door. Phil steels himself and folds his hands together atop his desk.

"Dr. Banner."

The scientist pauses and then turns back, curiosity on his face.

"We haven't had a good chance to speak since your return, and there is a... personnel matter I wish to discuss with you, if you have a moment."

Banner's sudden return to the tower was immediately followed by the callout which led to the report he's just handed Phil. He doesn't know what the others have told the man.

Banner nods and sits when Phil gestures him toward the visitor's chair before the desk.

"I don't know if you've heard the news -- "

Banner snorts and runs a hand over his face. "Tony insists this building runs on an arc reactor, but I'm fairly confident the actual energy source is gossip. I'm assuming you're referring to the news that you and Hawkeye are engaged."

Phil hopes it's Clint that's told Banner, but he's pretty sure that might be too much to ask.

"Yes. I don't wish to make you uncomfortable or put you on the spot. I just wanted to brief you on the situation and make sure you know that if you feel this might create a conflict of interest or an unhealthy shift in team dynamics, there are channels through which you may express your concerns."

Banner's gaze is inscrutable as he studies Phil, and Phil easily returns his stare, unintimidated.

"We don't know each other very well, but you seem like a decent man, Agent Coulson."

"Thank you."

"You've shown no desire to put me in a cage -- though I won't say the same for your boss -- no wish to aggravate or injure me to test my limits, no eagerness to cut me up to see what I'm made of."

"You're worth far more as an asset and an ally than a lab experiment," Phil tells him honestly.

"So why should I care who you share your bed and your life with? I highly doubt this is a new development, given that it has progressed to the level of an engagement, so I'm sure you're both accustomed to balancing your personal and professional lives. Far better than I've been able to, I assure you. So, no, I don't believe this will be a problem, and I don't require any _channels_. If I have a problem with something, I will tell you. If it's a big enough problem, the other guy will tell you."

"I appreciate your candor."

Banner nods as he stands. "Congratulations."

Phil stares at the door long after it has closed behind Banner.

"That went well."


	6. Chapter 6

 

Fury hands Coulson the last of the folders containing now-signed forms and documents, and Phil easily arranges them into the pile in his hands. Though this is the first of their traditional weekly meetings he's had with the director since his return to work, it has gone exactly the same as they always have. The ritual is somewhat comforting.

"Is that all, Coulson?"

"No, sir. There is, ah, one last thing. It's a separate matter."

He hands Fury the slim folder he's kept at the bottom of the stack. He doesn't fidget, because he never does, but there must be something telling in his bearing because Fury aims one long, speculative look at him before he opens the folder.

Phil waits patiently as Fury reads the two forms carefully, just as carefully as he reads everything Phil or anyone else hands him. No one will ever get the drop on the director because he's unaware of what he's signed.

Fury sets the folder on his desk, picks up his pen, and quickly signs both forms. He waits a moment to be sure the ink won't smear, and then tucks them both back in the folder and holds it out to Coulson.

"Anything else?"

Coulson takes the folder and hesitates briefly before answering, and Fury's eyebrow lifts in query.

"No, sir."

The director nods, and it's a dismissal, so Phil goes.

He goes back to his office, files his paperwork and readies his outgoing and internal mail. He tidies his desk and carefully places the slim folder in his briefcase before heading back to the tower for the evening.

When Clint comes into their suite from Tony's workshop, where he's been helping to design a practice range, he finds Phil standing before their small dining table, staring down at a couple of pieces of paper, one laying on each half of an open file folder.

"What's up?" He moves to stand beside Phil, glances down. "Oh."

Two _AR/ASC27: Agent Status Change due to Domestic Partnership or Marriage_ forms. One filled out, signed, and dated by Agent Phillip J. Coulson, and the other filled out, signed, and dated by Agent Clinton F. Barton. Both signed and dated by Director Nicholas Fury.

They stand silently for a moment, just staring down at the table, Clint's arm around Phil, Phil's hand in the back pocket of Clint's jeans.

They turn toward each other at the same time, faces inches apart. Phil smiles.

"Wanna get married?"

Clint laughs. "Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> This story was supposed to be a short, humorous 5+1, and then it changed. So now it's just six conversations.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed it!


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